


At Work, At Play

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But it's mostly Sally and Victor, F/M, Gen, Greg & John are also in this fic, M/M, Mentions of crime scene gore (not described), Mild/Casual Ableism, POV Sally Donovan, Post-Reichenbach, With some Sherlock too, sort of fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally never expected somebody so polite, so good, to be in love with Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Work, At Play

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: If you're taking prompts could I please request something where Victor shows up to a crime scene where Sherlock is at and Sally hits on Victor only to find out that Sherlock and him are dating. Thanks :)))

The sun had set a few hours ago now but the summer heat persisted, radiating from the concrete wall behind her and lingering in the air. Inside the building the body stank, rotting, flies humming. Sally was glad she didn’t have to stay inside with it.  
  
It was murder, that much was obvious. The old woman had been chopped up in her bedroom, and her kitchen floor had been torn up. A messy murder, so there should’ve been plenty of evidence. Except that there wasn’t, and so Greg had called Sherlock in.  
  
Sally was trying very hard not to think of him as The Freak anymore. Since the truth about his suicide had become public knowledge, Sally had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t easy, though, even now.  
  
He had turned up with John, rubbing his pale hands together as if he was delighted by the thought of gore and misery and mayhem. How was she meant to trust someone like that, really?   
  
The building behind her, the house of the dead woman, was small, red brick, with a tiny well-tended garden around it. All the plants had wilted from the heat wave. Nothing about the house (or the dead woman, Rosie Flinders, she always tried to remember their names, unlike _some_ ) seemed to merit such horrific destruction of life.  
  
Sally stood beside the front door, and police tape was wrapped around the little front gate. Most of the neighbors still had their lights on. She could almost feel the eyes on her, peering around curtains, whispering. It would be on the news, if it hadn’t already.  
  
A taxi moved down the street. Sally followed it with her eyes and frowned as it slowed, slowed, finally stopping behind the car she and Greg had arrived in. Had Rosie Flinders been expecting someone? A child or grandchild, perhaps? Sally felt her stomach drop. She desperately didn’t want to be confronted with a grieving family member, not when the body (what was left of it) was still inside…  
  
But the man who got out didn’t seem like a grieving son to her, and she had good instincts about these things. The man was tall, well dressed, with dark eyes and well-maintained stubble.  
  
Sally felt her stomach flip slightly. It was entirely unprofessional, of course, to be so easily distracted, but biology was biology. And he was clearly going to approach the crime scene. But why?  
  
He reached the gate and stopped, looking up at her, as if asking for permission. She took a few steps forwards, keeping her shoulders back and her chin lifted. Years of experience with The F- with Sherlock would help her now.  
  
‘I’m sorry, sir, but this is a crime scene.’  
  
‘Yes, I was afraid it would be,’ he said, sounding resigned. Odd. ‘I suppose I can’t come in, then?’  
  
‘No, you’ll remain behind the gate, thank you.’  
  
‘That’s fine.’ The taxi drove away. ‘My name’s Victor Trevor.’  
  
She shook his hand. It was large and warm around her own. Firm and not at all sweaty. Mentally, she tried to place his name, but came up with nothing. Odder and odder.  
  
‘Sargent Sally Donovan. Do you have any relationship to Rosie Flinders?’  
  
‘No, no. Is that who- I mean, is she why you’re all here?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Sally said, unsure how much to say. He didn’t seem like a reporter. ‘I thought you might be a relation of some kind. I’ll admit I’m rather pleased that you aren’t. Considering.’  
  
Victor winced, catching on. His eyes strayed to the door for the first time, mingled curiosity and disgust in his face. He was nothing like Sherlock, at least. She’d had enough experience chasing sociopaths away from bodies for a lifetime.  
  
‘Nasty, is it?’  
  
She nodded. He sighed.  
  
‘So why are you here?’ Sally pressed, but not sternly. She let herself smile at him. ‘You said your name like I should know it, but I don’t, and we’ve only been here about twenty minutes when you turn up…’  
  
‘I didn’t realize I’d been invited to a crime scene,’ Victor said, rolling his eyes as if this could happen to anyone, and happened to him quite often. ‘If I’d known I wouldn’t have come.’  
  
‘Well, I’m pleased you did,’ Sally said. ‘I didn’t want to stay inside with all the mess, honestly, but standing here for half an hour hasn’t been captivating either.’  
  
‘I’ve been a welcome distraction, then,’ Victor said, smiling. She felt herself smile back, bigger, warmer, than before. He was, indeed, a very welcome distraction. Aesthetically pleasing, and so far perfectly polite and sane as well.  
  
Even so, she was still working.  
  
‘So you were invited to a crime scene but you didn’t know it was a crime scene?’  
  
He laughed.   
  
‘Sounds mad, doesn’t it?’ Victor shook his head. ‘That’s Sherlock for you, though, isn’t it? It isn’t the sort of thing he thinks to mention.’  
  
‘Oh…’ Sally felt her smile slip a little. ‘You know Sherlock, then? He invited you?’  
  
‘Well, _invited_ is a strong word. I asked him where he’d got to, and he texted me this address. I didn’t realize, like I said… I normally give him space, when he’s working. He gets very caught up in it all.’  
  
‘Yes,’ Sally said, rather flatly. Victor spoke about Sherlock with familiarity and with undeniable fondness, as if his obsession with murder was endearing and the fact he’d lured Victor to a crime scene was simple amusing.  
  
‘You don’t like him?’ Victor asked, hesitant. ‘I know he can be pretty awful, sometimes, and he’s always at his worst when he’s working. Like I said, he gets caught up.’  
  
‘There have been… issues,’ Sally said, eventually. ‘In the past. I’m working on resolving them.’  
  
‘I hope he’s working to resolve them too,’ Victor said. Sally didn’t say anything, and he sighed, understanding her silence for the answer that it was.  
  
‘I’ll have words with him,’ he said, sounding firm and confident. ‘Sometimes he doesn’t even realize, you know. Just has to be pointed in the right direction.’  
  
‘You seem to know him very well,’ Sally said, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I’ve never heard anyone but John talk about Sherlock as if they could handle him.’  
  
‘Johns excellent at Sherlock-wrangling, isn’t he?’ Victor said, again sounding fond, amused. ‘I think it must be the mixture of the doctor and the solider, gives him a little edge when it comes to Sherlock… But, yes, of course I know him well.’  
  
‘Of course?’  
  
‘I’m his partner,’ Victor said, and Sally felt a burst of shock and amazement inside her chest. It must have shown on her face, too, because Victor kept on speaking, rather quickly now. ‘I should’ve made that clearer when I arrived, I suppose, I just assumed- well, I don’t know what I assumed. You look very, er, surprised.’  
  
‘Sorry,’ Sally said, closing her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not because you’re both men. It’s just that you seem so…’  
  
‘Typical?’ Victor suggested. ‘Or did you think I was straight?’  
  
‘I was going to say _sane,_ ’ Sally said, staring at him. And even now he still seemed robustly, entirely sane. Normally dressed, friendly and clever, with perfectly typical reactions to murder…   
  
‘Meaning that if I’m with Sherlock, I clearly can’t be?’ Victor said, his tone slightly different. ‘It’s not easy, anybody would be able to guess that, but I don’t think it’s any indication of mental abnormality.’  
  
‘Sorry,’ Sally said, feeling as though she’d just been shown undeniable proof that her mother was in fact a green alien from Mars. ‘It’s just… I’ve worked with Sherlock for many years now, and there have been issues…’  
  
‘Issues about his sanity?’  
  
‘Well, sometimes!’ Sally said, looking at Victor full in the face, trying to understand. ‘He’s so enthusiastic about murderers, so unsympathetic, so rude… and there was, you know, the problems with Moriarty too…’  
  
‘Ah,’ Victor said, frowning. ‘I see. You thought he’d kidnapped the children, then, back when all that mess started.’  
  
‘I know better now,’ Sally said firmly, feeling miserable. ‘It’s resolved. Or it will be. I’m working on it.’  
  
‘But it hasn’t been easy, because he still seems rude and unsympathetic and so on, doesn’t he? To you? And then I show up…’  
  
‘I’ve made mistakes,’ Sally said. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, I really did. There were children involved. He’s always made it hard to trust him. But he’s made mistakes too, you know.’  
  
‘Oh, I know,’ Victor said, nodding. ‘Many of them, some of them worse than yours, easily. _Easily._ And you do see him at his worst. He’s always a pain when he’s working.’  
  
‘And he’s…’ Sally hesitated, trying to understand but not wanting to pry, or seem offensive. ‘Not such a pain? Other times? Because, you know, microwaving eyeballs isn’t my idea of not being a pain.’  
  
Victor snorted. ‘I heard about that,’ he said. ‘Drugs bust, wasn’t it?’  
  
She nodded, smiling a little at the memory. It did seem funnier, looking back on it, though at the time she remembered the stress of trying to find the damn cabbie before he killed again.  
  
‘He’s much different,’ Victor said. ‘Loves his parents. Surprisingly brilliant with kids, actually, he says they haven’t yet developed into stupid adults. Enthusiastic dancer… And he’s a proper prick when he’s working, I know, because everything else stops mattering. It’s a big fault, because the work is such a huge part of his life. But he’s not a bad man, Sally. If it’s ok that I call you Sally.’  
  
‘It’s ok,’ Sally said, stunned. Victor clearly, absolutely believed what he was saying, and Sally had rarely met anyone she instinctively trusted more. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any distress,’ she added.  
  
‘Likewise,’ Victor nodded. ‘You’ve got a tough job. I wouldn’t underestimate you, or offend you, if I knew what was good for me.’  
  
Sally cast around for something else to talk about, something that wasn’t about Sherlock or crime or mental health.  
  
‘What do you do?’ She asked, suddenly curious to know the answer. ‘Professionally, I mean, not with Sherlock.’  
  
‘Ha! Well I’m a photographer and biologist, which I’ve been told is a bizarre combination. I’m actually having a book published in a few months, about poisonous frogs amongst other things. I took all the photos myself.’  
  
‘Wow,’ Sally said, genuinely impressed. ‘That’s interesting. I had you pinned as the brainy type already, obviously… biologist, though, that’s impressive.’  
  
‘Thanks. Though your job trumps mine.’  
  
‘Well,’ Sally said, shrugging. ‘It takes all sorts.’  
  
‘That’s the spirit,’ Victor said. ‘How much longer do you suppose they’ll be? If this case is going to last another two weeks I’d rather not stand here like a clot for another four hours.’  
  
‘Sherlock probably won’t be too much longer,’ Sally said. ‘We know who she is, the cause of death is very obvious, it’s just the who and the why we need. It’s forensics and the cleanup crew who have the longest job tonight.’  
  
She winced at the thought, and Victor pulled a face. She wondered idly if he’d faint if he saw the state Rosie Flinders was in. Or maybe he’d throw up? It was always hard to tell how people would react.  
  
‘No, no, no!’ Sherlocks voice boomed from inside the house. He sounded as if he was getting closer. ‘It’s all to do with the house, with that kitchen in particular, and we’re all missing something obvious.’  
  
The sound of numerous footsteps grew. Sherlock burst out of the front door, followed by Greg and John. Sherlock looked angry. Both John and Greg looked annoyed and nauseated. John, in particular, seemed to be in need of fresh air.  
  
‘Well if it’s so obvious it won’t take you long to figure out, then,’ Greg said, rolling his eyes before turning towards Sally.  
  
‘Hello hello, whose this?’  
  
‘Victor Trevor,’ Victor said, waving a hand and smiling. ‘Sherlocks partner.’  
  
Sherlock started, clearly only just having registered there were other people in the yard at all. He positively beamed at Victor, striding over and grabbing his shoulders before kissing him once, swiftly, on the mouth.  
  
‘How long have you been here? You should’ve come in!’  
  
‘I think not,’ Victor said. ‘I don’t need to see all the blood and guts, thanks.’  
  
‘You invited him?’ Greg said, looking from Sherlock to Victor, eyebrows raised. ‘Would he be able to help us?’  
  
‘No, no, he just wanted to know where I was, and I said I was here,’ Sherlock said.  
  
‘Not that he mentioned here was a crime scene,’ Victor added, exasperated. ‘But it’s been fine, Sally and I have had an excellent chat.’  
  
‘Have you?’ Sherlock said, glancing at her, unsure. ‘How interesting.’  
  
‘It was,’ Sally said, smiling at his hesitancy. ‘I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it.’  
  
‘I look forward to it,’ Sherlock said evenly.  
  
‘Yes, yes,’ Greg said, waving his hands at them as if trying to clear away smog. ‘I’m sure it’s been simply fascinating. Now will you solve this damn thing or not, Sherlock, hmm?’  
  
‘Yes, yes, I’ll solve it. Order a taxi, John.’  
  
‘Already done,’ John said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. ‘We’re going back to 221B, yeah?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Sherlock said impatiently. ‘Why?’  
  
‘I was thinking Victor might like to come with us,’ John said. ‘Right, Victor?’  
  
‘Of course he does,’ Sherlock said, before Victor could speak. ‘The three of us will fit into the taxi, you know…’  
  
John rolled his eyes, turning to say something to Greg. Sally was just close enough to Sherlock and Victor to hear what Sherlock said next, as he leant closer to Victors ear.  
  
‘Sorry about the dreadful timing, promise you can shag me once it’s all over.’  
  
Victor winked at him. Blushing, Sally looked away.  
  
‘Sally,’ Greg said, ‘call in the cleanup crew, Andersons almost done. Poor buggers, they’ll have a hell of a job with this one.’  
  
‘Tell me about it,’ Sally said, shaking her head. ‘They may as well burn the house down, sometimes, rather than try and clean it up.’  
  
She and Greg watched as Sherlock and John walked out of the garden. At once Sherlock started holding Victors hand, though his phone was in his other hand and he was texting furiously. They stood by the side of the road, waiting for their taxi.  
  
‘You know Victor well?’  
  
‘I know him ok,’ Greg said. ‘He met Sherlock while Sherlock was gadding about, pretending to be dead. Interesting chap. Good for Sherlock, clearly. Did you like him?’  
  
‘I nearly hit on him, to be honest,’ Sally said, laughing. ‘Barking up the wrong tree, though, obviously.’  
  
Greg chuckled at that. They stood by the door as the cleanup team started filing in. Their expressions were grim, and Sally pitied them. She wouldn’t have their job for the whole world.  
  
The taxi arrived, and Sherlock, John and Victor scrambled inside it. John spoke to the cabbie. Sherlocks face was illuminated by the pale light of his phone. A few seconds later the taxi was moving. Sally watched it until it was out of sight.  
  
‘Well,’ said Greg, ‘that’s them out of our hair. On with the job?’  
  
‘On with the job,’ Sally said, smiling, fishing the car keys out of her pocket. There was work to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


End file.
